Knights and Mercenaries
by skywolf666
Summary: He had been waiting for his father for a bout of sparring practise far from the monastery grounds, but had been surprised by the teal-wearing sniper arriving instead. Without a partner, he didn't think twice about asking for her to be a replacement. There was no better way to learn of another mercenary than crossing blades, after all. (BL, B!SiblingxShamir)


**White Clouds**

**Garreg Mach Outskirts**

**Horsebow Moon**

**Year 1180**

Warin moved almost as if he was truly in battle, blocking invisible blows from a multitude of invisible enemies as he spun on his heel and struck out with his fists. Every movement was made with the maximum amount of force with the minimum amount of effort involved, allowing him time for speed and accuracy as he spun and ducked and wove about, each time moving both his feet and fists in tandem. His lance was leaning up against a nearby tree, waiting for its partner to pick it up once his father came to join him for his sparring training, but the former captain of the Knights of Seiros was running late. It was not unusual, especially considering the sheer amount of work he was being forced to do since returning to his old post, and Warin did not mind the wait. It only meant he had more time to work on his brawling, though he did admit his lancework was going to suffer the more he neglected it in favour of sparring with his father rather than practising alone.

He paused as he heard the soft crackling of footsteps on the undergrowth, and his eyes narrowed at the footfall that was far different than his father's. It was softer, lighter, and most definitely made by someone who was used to concealing their presence than the noisy, careless footfall his father would make if he was coming to join him. Automatically he activated the blades on his gauntlets as he stepped backwards and towards his lance, but any idea he had of reaching for it disappeared as he caught a familiar glimpse of the darker shade of teal peeking out through the trees.

The sniper looked almost as surprised as he did to see her, and her dark, violet-coloured eyes flickered as she looked him up and down and then realized she had been heard during her approach. He did the same, noticing the bow and quiver on her back, as well as the lance that was carrying both, but Shamir looked at ease and clearly had no intent on using her weapons. It was simply standard uniform for the woman, and he accepted it without concern as she came close enough to be heard easily and remarked idly, "You're good. Not many can hear me coming, especially in the midst of training. I see your father taught you well."

It was the first time he had been addressed directly by her, though she certainly was not a stranger, and Warin's eyes narrowed slightly as he took in her accent with a bit of surprise. The sniper was one of the many knights that had accompanied him and his father on their missions, though she wasn't the social type. Still, her skill spoke for themselves, and there was no doubting that she was a splendid shot, and more than capable of taking care of herself and any mission that she was assigned. She was frequently fighting alongside Catherine, and his father had told him they were usually battle partners, despite their occasional sniping and banter.

It had been quite some time since he had heard someone speak with a Dagdan accent, and to hear it in the centre of Fódlan of all places was even more strange. Though, he did admit, the monastery was certainly a place where people from all over seemed to congregate, and thinking differently wasn't quite proper of him. People from the Empire, Kingdom and Alliance were all here by official treaty, and it made more than enough sense that potential students, or mercenaries, could be found from places farther outside of Fódlan's borders if they showed the skill and desire. Still, he couldn't quite suppress his curiosity as he remarked, "Are you Dagdan?"

The response was a pair of a raised eyebrows, and he had to admit he was having difficulty getting a read on her. Shamir seemed almost as inexpressive as his sister, though it seemed more out of a general sort of apathy for the feelings of others than any difficulty with expressing emotions. Perhaps her blunt nature made her dislike socializing. He certainly could understand that. But she answered his question with one of her own that was more curious than anything else when she asked him, "Have you travelled there before? You and your father's band?"

"No. But I met a few mercenaries along the way. A couple worked for my father, actually, for a little while. I recognized your accent." Warin explained with a shake of his head though he did admit the idea of travelling past Fódlan's borders had always appealed to him greatly. He had heard Dagda stretched far and had a varied landscape, despite how much territory had been ravaged after the Imperial counter-invasion after the war. His father however had never seemed interested in leaving far beyond the borders, though he had never questioned why. Perhaps he was too tied down to the land where he had met his wife, or perhaps his reasons were more pragmatic. It was not easy to take two children out of the country and to another strange world where all of them would need to adjust at once. "I had thought you were a mercenary. You're not trained like the other knights here are."

"I was a mercenary. Likely a bit different than you and your family, however. I worked mostly by myself after the war before entering into the knights. I have to admit it's a bit better of a life, though. I can punch all the nobles I like here as a knight. That's not a possibility as a regular old sellsword." A hint of a smile curled at her lips, bitter amusement and almost a sort of mischievous sort of understanding that she was abusing her power and enjoying every moment of it. He couldn't help it, he found himself returning the smile with one of his own. If this was her true self, then he could see them getting along quite well.

"That's true enough." Warin imagined what it would be like, finally getting a chance to physically retaliate against each and every noble who had ever looked at him with both contempt and a desire to use him until he had no more left to be used. He envied her for that ability, but at the same time, he knew he wasn't truly capable of it. His father had taught him too much restraint, and his fists were not weapons to be raised against anyone but an enemy that was threatening him, his family, or his men. Still, as much as the conversation was entertaining, he had to note on her appearance there when he had been expecting his father, and he questioned politely so not to put her off, "May I ask what you're doing here? I was waiting for my father for training."

"Delivery. Your father can't make it, so he sent me here to tell you so you wouldn't be waiting all night for him." Shamir's answer came briskly and without fanfare, though there was no coolness even though she was all facts. If anything, she almost sounded apologetic on his father's behalf, and he could well understand why. His father was not used to breaking his word for any sort of business that could and frequently did come up, whether he be a mercenary or a knight, but his duties were far more important than a simple sparring match far from the monastery grounds. She rolled her shoulders back lazily as she continued on with the details she had been tasked to give to the young man, "He was caught up with Alois, some sort of skirmish they needed to take care of on the border. It didn't seem very important, so I'm guessing bandits, but they needed an extra man and took the first on available. I'm sure you'd have been invited along had you been there."

"If he's with Alois, he doesn't need me." Warin waved an errant hand at the mention of his father's old comrade, and he felt no concern whatsoever at the knowledge that the two were being sent to deal with whatever errand the church had decided to send them on. He did not know Alois, though he had been told they had met briefly in the monastery when he had been very young. It must have been long before they left, and he admitted to feeling a twinge of disappointment that he had not been around longer to know him. The moustached knight seemed to be a jovial and warm sort, always pleased to see someone and make errant conversation, and though Jeralt acted as if he was an annoyance... They seemed to get along rather well. He was also a strong fighter, having been trained directly by his father, and he had only needed to spar with him once to know he was more than worthy of his respect and trust at having his father's back. "They're both better served leaving me behind. I still have a lot to learn about fighting with the knights."

"That much is true." Shamir acknowledged with a nod, and her eyes looked over him thoughtfully as he admitted his shortcomings without much hesitation or concern. She had seen him fight, and there was no doubt that on his own, or with his father, he was a fearsome opponent to be met with. But that only was when he was fighting alongside someone he trusted with his back, and that trust was rarely given out. He preferred to fight alone if his father was needed elsewhere, and while he had the strength to fight unaided without much concern... "You're not much of a team-player. Mind you, nor am I, so I shouldn't be giving you a hard time about that. You know your strengths and you play to them. But improving as a whole means minding your weaknesses. And it does seem as if you want to improve."

"I can't stay as I am forever. I would never last. I don't know how long I'll be here at the monastery, so I have no choice but to adjust. Survival requires it." Warin shrugged errantly as he took her criticism without hesitation or hurt. It was all true, and none of what she said was said with a hint of malevolence. He reached for his lance, giving it an idle twirl in his hands as he mourned the fact that he was going to lose out on sparring with his father. The thought made him cast a thoughtful glance to the sniper still standing a few feet away, and he began slowly, "With that said... I'm now without a training partner..."

Shamir raised her eyebrows, both somewhat bemused and somehow amused by his lack of straightforwardness in asking her to spar. It wasn't exactly what she had expected from him, but at the same time, she did admit that the entire situation was not exactly what he had expected, either. She had essentially come all this way to tell him he was out a sparring partner, and any sort of basic manners did demand she do something in order to compensate him. However... She rolled her shoulders back and answered him simply, "If you want to spar, you'll have to ask me properly, otherwise I'm turning around and heading back to the monastery."

"Fair point. Forgive me." Warin wondered where his sudden lack of bluntness had gone, and he likewise rolled his shoulders before planting the blunt end of his lance into the ground to lean on it like a crutch. She shook him, though she wasn't entirely sure why that was. Perhaps it was her professional calmness. She both walked and spoke exactly like every mercenary he had ever known and admired as a child, and it was likely that old admiration flaring back up and making him hesitate with someone with far more experience than he had. "Will you spar with me?"

Shamir tilted her head to the side before glancing towards the lance he was holding and noting the fact that it's tip was rounded and in no way at all suitable for a real fight. She was both surprised and curious by the fact that he had brought a training lance out into the woods to fight his father with, but a closer look reminded her that he was wearing a pair of sharp-tipped gauntlets. She nodded to both weapons before asking him, "Are you asking for lancing, or brawling?"

"Lancing. I don't spar with real weapons." Warin answered immediately as he glanced down to his gauntlets and then to his training lance. Shamir raised an eyebrow questioningly, and he felt himself offering an awkward smile as he realized she didn't understand him whatsoever. He gestured to his gauntlets before explaining more clearly, "It's something Father taught me. Real weapons have a place, and that's on the battlefield, not in sparring. He probably enforced the rule to keep Raine and I from hurting each other when we were children, but it's a habit I've kept up ever since. I'd rather not be responsible for injuring a family member, or a comrade."

"Ethical, I suppose, but with a training weapon you're not about to grow much stronger. It's lighter and less dangerous for a reason. If you've mastered the basics, it's better to train with a real weapon." Shamir pointed out with another tilt of her head, but all the same she pulled her lance free from the strap on her back and gave it an experimental twirl of her own. Her own however was a real, sharpened blade, and she looked at the edged tip before musing, "You did offer, however, and I should play by your rules if I intend to accept. I'll have a match with you, but you'll need to wait until we're back at the monastery. I don't make a habit of carrying about weapons I'm not about to fight with."

"That's where you're in luck, actually..." Warin chuckled as he leaned behind the tree to fetch the second lance that had been hidden away for his father's hand when he arrived. Shamir looked at him in surprise, but reached out all the same to snatch it out of the air when he tossed it to her casually without much preamble. He shrugged his shoulders before placing his lance back on the ground, and began unbuckling his gauntlets as he explained, "Father always needs a spare when it comes to sparring practise. He didn't get his name Blade Breaker for nothing. It's accidental most of the time, apparently."

At that, Shamir had to snort with amusement, and it was completely out of her control at the idea of the personable, if somewhat stoic Blade Breaker holding a broken weapon in his hands by complete and utter accident. The fact that she could easily imagine such a scenario didn't help, and she wondered if the name had been given to him first out of irony, and then had become something that he embraced when he started to put his strange quirk into good use. "Are you serious? He does it by _accident_?"

"His Crest, apparently." Warin explained as he finished unbuckling his gauntlets and slid them off of his wrists. He set them down carefully over his cloak, ensuring they were out of the dirt and the way before he once again picked up the training lance he had set aside. Though definitely nowhere near capable of causing real damage to anyone it still had some heft in his hand, and he clenched and unclenched his hand about it experimentally to test its weight. It felt normal enough after another careful spin in his hands, and he remarked with a hint of a chuckle, "He said it was mostly a problem when he was first learning to fight, but he's gotten much more control now. It's only practise weapons that tend to shatter when we spar. I don't think he'll be breaking that habit anytime soon, unfortunately. It's not as if these things are made to last."

"And you? Did you inherit the same problem?" Shamir asked as she likewise unhooked her bow and quiver and set them aside and out of the way for their impromptu sparring session. She watched him weigh his weapon with an expert hand and eye, and wondered just how good of a lancer he was. She hadn't seen him take a lance out on any of their missions despite the fact that he always carried one, and he had always seemed much more comfortable as a brawler. He was skilled with his gauntlets, too. It almost made her wonder why he had decided to pick up another weapon to master when he was already so well-trained, but that was not her business to ask.

"No, but I do have a Crest, myself. The same one as him." Warin answered with a long stretch of his arms, and he wondered errantly if his father would mind him disclosing the fact that he bore a Crest so readily. It was not exactly as if he had been told to keep it a secret, and ever since being in the monastery, there had been no hiding it once Professor Hanneman had gotten a hold of Raine. He had been dragged right into the scholar's office immediately after he'd finished with his sister, though thankfully the fact that his father bore the same Crest as he had made it a rather painless interaction. He watched as Shamir likewise stretched herself out in preparation for their match, and he continued with another low chuckle, "I think sticking gauntlets on me and putting a lance in my hands as soon as I could walk was his way of making sure I didn't go around doing the same thing he did."

"A mini Blade Breaker... That would have been a sight. All right, then... Let's go, shall we?" Shamir didn't wait for his assent and instead leapt the moment she saw he was prepared, and to her satisfaction he did not wince back from her in surprise or fear. He seemed ready for her despite having given him no warning, and he proved it as he caught her strike in the middle of his lance without any effort. And almost as quickly as she had struck he was returning the blow, whirling his own lance to ward her backwards and give himself distance in case she decided to try for a stab, or an underhanded swing. All easy and natural moves for anyone who had wielded a lance before, and she fought a smile as she murmured with approval once again, "You _are_ good at this. You said your father has been training you your whole life?"

"I learned to fight as I learned to read. Father insisted." Warin replied lightly as he took his turn this time, stabbing out once at half-extension, and watching as she easily swatted his lance-tip away from her. She was quicker than he was, and had an easier time handling her weapon than him. It was clear she knew more about lancework than he did from only those two exchanges, and he wondered how much farther he needed to go to improve both his handling and skill to reach her level, let alone the level of his father. "He did the same with Raine, if you're curious. We grew up in his mercenary band, after all. We were never in any danger as kids, but he wasn't about to take his chances."

"A protective, doting father. It'd have been hard to guess just from the look of him." Shamir watched his footwork as he circled her, probing for a gap in her defences to exploit, but he was left lacking. She, too, was now aware of his skills and his limitations, though she didn't think it was a reason to stop the match so quickly. He was learning with every match, that much was clear, too, and though she normally wasn't one for conversation... Learning about him and the mysterious Bade Breaker was worth the change of pace, and the sparring match that normally she would have declined outright from any other stranger.

"He's like that, unfortunately." Warin agreed with a nod, and he wondered at her willingness to banter with him as they traded experimental blows with one another. She seemed to already be aware of where his weaknesses were, but was allowing him to try and find hers as if she was egging him on. It only made him all the more willing to keep trying, even as she parried him blow after blow with what felt like absolute ease. The banter only made it smoother even though it was distracting in its own way, but he was more than used to that. He only wondered why she was so conversational now. She never had struck him to be the type, but perhaps battle brought it out in her for whatever reason.

"Alois hasn't stopped talking him up ever since his return." Shamir noted as his next blow came heavier with an overhead stroke, and she deftly sidestepped to get out of the way of it as she knew his strength would cause her arms to fold if she tried to catch the blow. He was definitely the stronger of the two of them, despite her speed and better skills. He could easily use that blunt force to plough right through her, but instead he was taking his time and studying her footwork, proving he was more of a tactician than a regular thoughtless soldier to be put on the frontlines. "I think he's the man's hero."

"With all the "Captain" this and "Captain" that, I think he might be." Warin had to agree yet again, and he chuckled as he wondered if Alois would ever quit with the titles regardless of how often Jeralt told him off for it. He doubted it, but Jeralt didn't really seem to look like he actually cared that much. They sparred and shook the training grounds, carried each other out of the local taverns when they drank too much ale, and Jeralt always was ready to listen when Alois spoke so happily of his wife and child. Whether or not his father would admit it, and he likely would not, they were friends. "But, to be frank, it's... It's rather nice to see."

"You think so?" Shamir was a little surprised by the sentiment. The man in front of her didn't much seem to be the type. It was true that he was loyal, and that his family was the most important thing in his life to him, but he had never once struck her as one to be overly sentimental in anything that he did. He was too guarded to be sentimental. Too jaded. She could see that as clearly as she could read a book. It was almost standard for a mercenary, for any mercenary, but she already was aware Warin was in no way standard. He had lost something, and was mourning, and he had turned that mourning into rage. Into rage, and detachment. Like so many of the others had, in order to survive in a world that was cold and cruel.

"Father didn't talk much about his life as a knight when we were growing up." Warin didn't need to expand on the reasoning, and he was glad to know that the woman he was sparring with wasn't one to be overly concerned with the details. In crossing blades he had learned more about her than he likely could have in ten long conversations, and he felt completely at ease in speaking to her now. She was not a friend, it was not that easy to become such things, but any mercenary could discover the inner nature of another if they took the time to let their weapons clash for a good period of time. "I wasn't aware he had old friends here. We left so long ago, and a lot has changed since we came back... But it's good to see he isn't alone now that he's been forced back in. I would have worried for him otherwise."

"Forced back? That's a detail I wasn't informed of." Shamir parried his stab, returning it with one of her own with a quick thrust of her arm that forced Warin back with a quick step. He was learning, and with surprising speed. Already he was understanding her habits and beginning to adjust to them accordingly, and she understood now exactly why his father was so esteemed amongst both mercenaries and the knights that she now knew. If his son was so skilled, his father would be even better. Now the reasoning why Rhea trusted so wholeheartedly in his daughter's skills wasn't so much of a mystery to her anymore. This piece of information, however, it did surprise her. A man such as Jeralt, being forced to do something against his will? That could not have been an easy feat to accomplish.

"I imagine Rhea kept it a secret that he wasn't exactly a willing participant." Warin smiled bitterly, and he didn't want to imagine what kind of poor reception it would be if the truth was really found out. However, it was his father's discretion to keep, and he knew better than to expound on the details. It only made him grateful that Shamir, while interested, wasn't about to press him farther if he showed hesitation in doing so. Still, that, in it's own strange way, only wanted to make him say more, and he wondered why exactly that was. Still, he didn't say much more as he stepped back from her probing strike of her lance, "But we weren't in a position to say no. So, now we're here. My father, myself, and Raine."

It clicked into place quite easily for Shamir then, at least, when she heard Warin put it in such terms. Of course. What else would cause a man like Jeralt to fold his hand so easily? His children. Even if he didn't show his sentiment, just as his children didn't, there was no denying that they were his weakness. Holding them hostage held him hostage. He would easily walk back into the fold of the knights if they were a threat to his children, or if they wanted something from them. And from her knowledge of the knights... Well, it was the only logical conclusion she could reach as she admitted with a shake of her head, "The Knights _are _like that... And you call Rhea by her first name?"

"I knew her as a child. For a short time, anyway."They were not words he wished to speak, and he knew it showed as they brought their lances together again and again in quick, harsh strokes. He couldn't quite help it. The subject was becoming tender, especially as he saw those memories flickering through his mind's eye like a rapidly turning picture book. He'd been young, but he could still remember it clearly enough. The way she tended to his mother throughout her pregnancy. The way she doted on him, as she doted on his mother. Smiling, happy, and celebrating with her friend for the new child she was going to bring into the world. They were not pleasant memories. Not when they faded away to the funeral, to the baby, to her apologies that rang hallow and futile in his young ears then, and even moreso in his ears now. He hated her for what she had done. He always would. He wasn't quite sure what he would do if he stopped. It had kept him alive for far too long. He struck out again, needing the release, needing the outlet for his anger as he noted, "I notice you didn't try to correct me."

"I'm a mercenary first, and a knight second. I'm technically here on an extended contract, not out of any sort of loyalty." It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't as if she owed him the full truth. Not just yet. His blows were coming harder, but his work was not suffering for it. It was an intriguing change of pace, and even moreso that he could fight so well when obviously disturbed. His eyes had taken on a harder glint, fiercer, as if something was whirling around in his head that he wanted to get out. She understood that much, without needing explanations. That, too, was also a right of passage for any mercenary worth their salt. They all carried their wounds on them in some shape or form that was only visible to others of the same kind. It was simply their way. "I'm not religious, either. It makes me an oddity here."

"I heard you'd been questioned about Flayn's whereabouts."

It should have stung, but in truth, Shamir admitted that it didn't at all. Raine had looked almost as awkward speaking about it as she probably had felt bringing it up, and Shamir had been well aware she was only doing it because someone else had put her up to it. They were hunting for a little girl, Seteth's precious little sister, and there was no time to be hedging, or polite. She may have disliked falling under someone's microscope, but she did well understand why it had happened. Time was of the essence, and any and all possible suspects were to be questioned. She was unfortunately simply one of the many to be brought forward due to who and what she was. There was no point holding a grudge over it. "Being an outsider tends to bring on the attention, warranted or no."

"But you don't care." Warin dodged her overhead stroke, watching as she adjusted herself and swung again almost at once to keep him on the defensive. She was pushing him now, all signs of experimental play over now that she had a full evaluation of him, and he had to admit she was keeping him well beyond on his toes. She was faster than he was by far even if she didn't have his brute strength, and even a glancing blow would hurt if she landed it. She applied the same accuracy in her sniping to her lancing, and he didn't doubt she would always go for the finishing blow first if she had the chance to do so. He admired it. She knew what she was good at, and she wasn't ashamed to rely on it. Her fighting style reflected her personality, just as he had expected it would. She was sharp, blunt, and brutally efficient. He didn't want to imagine what it would be like to be on her bad side in any circumstance.

"No. I'm not here for anyone's approval." The words almost came out with a chuckle, especially as Warin's lance was knocked easily aside when he returned her stab with one of his own. He wasn't pushing as hard as she was now, though why, she wasn't aware. Still, it didn't matter. If he had worked through his anger already, who was she to try and force it back just to make the session more interesting again? It was quite fine as it was. Almost entertaining, even. He wasn't Catherine, who went all out all the time, but he was a good sparring partner all the same. Variety was a perfect spice, after all.

"Why are you here, then?"

A moment's window opened up at his questioning, and Shamir took full advantage of it as she swung her lance and twirled the blunt end upwards. It connected loudly with his chin, knocking him flat on his back from both the unexpected force behind the blow and sheer surprise of it all. She hid a smile as she kicked his lance from his hand deftly, leaving him breathless and beaten in the grass. He looked at her with both surprise and admiration, and this time she felt her smile quirking her lips without her permission. That was a familiar look, even if it was on an unfamiliar face. He had asked a question and fully hadn't expected her to answer with her weapon rather than her words. But she did give it to him anyway, if only as a reward for entertaining her when she hadn't expected for such a thing to happen all for just delivering a message as a favour. "For the paycheck."

"Good reason." Warin's voice sounded a little breathless, likely from being knocked to the ground so harshly, but it brought on a small snicker from her all the same. He propped himself up on his elbows, rubbing at his chin as he wondered errantly how badly he would end up bruising from her stroke. The lance may have been blunted and not nearly as weighted as a real one, but it hurt to be struck with it all the same. She had handily bested him, and it was both a sobering and enlightening experience to see his skill level was sorely lacking. "Damn... I've got much more to learn than I thought I did. Thank you. That was a humbling fight. I'd appreciate it if you allowed me to try again sometime. I could learn a lot from you."

"Are you asking to make this a habit?" It was an intriguing proposition, and not one she had expected to hear from him as she watched him sit up in the dirt and flex his jaw experimentally. He made no real effort to get up, as if he had been knocked down too hard or was reflecting more on the fact that she had so easily put him there in the first place. He did however reach for the lance she had kicked away, and he glanced over it thoughtfully as she watched him closely. It wasn't as if she disliked the thought. It certainly would be a change of pace from her usual sparring partners, at the very least.

"Only if you're willing. I know you've commitments, but... Well, it's pretty clear Father knows one style, and you know another. And yours... is certainly more efficient." Warin braced himself with his lance as he ambled to his feet, and the throbbing in his jaw warned him that it likely would turn into a bruise to show off for quite awhile to come. He wasn't quite looking forward to telling his father where he had received it, but it wasn't entirely as if it was a bad thing to have. Shamir was skilled, and there was no shame in losing to a skilled opponent. And it only made him all the more eager as he explained, "I'd like to learn from you if I could ever have the opportunity. If I'm going to be here for who-knows-how-long, I may as well take every chance I can to learn. My lancing skills won't improve if I only ever spar with my father."

"Your sister is the teacher here." Shamir pointed out with some amusement, but there was no real scorn to her voice as she watched Warin stand and lean on his lance for support. Taking Cyril in as her apprentice wasn't much in comparison to being a professor, and she only taught him when she had the time to do so, and after he had spent long weeks pestering her and wearing down her patience. Warin was no child, and he was already learning without needing instruction. A few sparring matches here and there wouldn't be much to give him, if that was all he was asking for. And she might even enjoy herself in the process anyway. "Still... It _was_ entertaining. I suppose it wouldn't be too bad to have a bout with you, every now and then. Shall we get started right away, then?"

"That sounds good to me." Warin agreed, and he stretched his arms high over his head until he heard the bones in his shoulders pop audibly. She watched him closely, already settling again into her stance, and he hid a smile as he likewise adjusted his footing and hold on his lance... She would be a challenge, and hopefully, a persistent one. He wouldn't accept his father's apology when he came back, as it had opened up a door he hadn't thought to look for, let alone think existed. He would enjoy himself, so long as she was willing to oblige his rather selfish request. But... He could think of worse things to do then get knocked around by a rather attractive woman. "Let's begin."

**AN:**

**... So, there's some more shipping goggles for you. And for the people who have been hounding me about Alois, there is also your answer there for you! And don't worry, I did actually think quite a lot about Warin and Alois. Though, unfortunately, due to his age and the circumstances between them, they don't have much of a relationship at the current moment in time. That will likely change in the future (due to story events that we all are quite aware of), but that'll still take some time to get to. I'm trying my best to sort of meander through the story without exactly "rewriting" it, even though I do have a pretty clear direction I think I'd like to take this collection of sorts through... I can however promise by the time the "war phase" begins, this likely will all be stored into one piece as a continuing story, though likely will still have the same sort of style as these oneshots have been... That's still a long time coming, though!**

**As for the few reviewers who have asked about Leonie... I shall point you in the direction of my second fic, "Clear Skies", which has already touched on the fact that the siblings have never actually met her. There won't be much interaction between Raine/Warin and Leonie for several reasons, one of which being that they have no history outside of Jeralt, and the two siblings have never met her. Raine is teaching the Blue Lions, and Warin does not interact with the students as a rule, and Leonie is also not the Golden Deer recruit that will be joining Raine's class. I apologize to all Leonie fans for this, but unfortunately... It's simply not in the cards at this given moment.**

**I had fun exploring Warin and Shamir's "relationship" as knights and mercenaries in this fic, especially considering their rather similar personalities. She was indeed my spouse of choice for my male Byleth runs (which was every run besides BL, because I'm hopeless), and I didn't want to change the dynamic between the two very much, even though Warin is very much a "canon immigrant" in this universe. Between he and Raine, Warin is most certainly the one who has carried over more of "Byleth's" personality, while Raine is carrying more of "Byleth's" story. This is intentional, though. I didn't want to create a universe with two Byleths, but I also wanted Warin to feel familiar to my readers. Whether or not I've succeeded in this effort... Well, that's up to you!**

**As always, thank you for reading this far, and please drop me a review if you feel the need! I appreciate your time very much, and am always excited to hear what you have to say about anything I have to write! You guys have a good one, and I hope to see you soon!**

**PS: This is a warning to all anonymous reviewers that any "idea suggestions" and "writing prompts" are not to be in your reviews, and most certainly not expounded upon like a mini-fanfiction, (unless they had been explicitly asked for in the author's notes), and will be dealt with by review deletion, or the banning of anonymous reviews altogether should it continue. Such behaviour is extremely poor reviewing etiquette, and will not be tolerated. At the very least, if you wish to insert _your_ world into _my_ writing, then make an account, and do it yourself in your fanfiction. There is a person on the other side of this screen, and you must remember that my work is my work to do, and not yours to insert yourself into without my explicit permission. You are aware of who you are. Do not do it again.**

**Mood: Pleasant.**

**Listening To: "Face My Fears" - Utada Hikaru (KH3 OP)**

**~ Sky**


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